


An Unkindness of Ravens

by ravens_writes



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Fiction, NaNoWriMo 2017, Original work - Freeform, Some violence but it's not explicit, additional tags to be added (maybe), like you wouldn't even believe, lots and lots of ravens, there are mentions of the Lunar Chronicles and Divergent and Hamilton (the musical)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 01:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16883379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravens_writes/pseuds/ravens_writes
Summary: Romance, ravens, death, and alternate universes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the Lunar Chronicles or Divergent or Hamilton: An American Musical.

It was a rainy  night when the ravens came.

Under the cover of darkness, they swooped over the rooftops and spread over the city, covering it in a gloomy blanket of feathers and talons. Although the city was already dark, the birds made the blackness suffocating and unbearable. People say they are afraid of the dark. Laugh at them if you want, but they have good reason, especially now. You wouldn’t survive if you stepped into this dark. 

Anybody unlucky enough to set foot outside their house would immediately be swarmed upon and covered head to toe in the large, black birds, and would be pecked to death so fast, they wouldn’t have time to scream, or yell, or make any such noise.

As the ravens took flight, seemingly every soul in the city shrank back from their windows simultaneously. Every soul, that is, except one baby girl. Her parents, who had foolishly tried to flee the ravens, had abandoned their daughter, and had been killed by the birds. She was now an orphan, deserted and without any family at all. With red curls, green eyes, and a slight spattering of freckles, she would no doubt grow up to be a beautiful woman. She gazed out the second-floor window with a mixture of emotions washing over her face like waves in the ocean. Not terror, but awe and wonder at the sight before her. Why, you ask? Because once you look past the blood and gore in the streets, the spectacle out the window was truly amazing. With all the thousands of ravens soaring outside, weaving in and out amongst one another as the star-speckled sky slowly lightened from black to blue to purple all the way to a salmon-pink, it was an amazing thing to see.

As the lemon-yellow sun gradually peeked out from behind the purple-tinged mountains, the ravens finally reached the place they were aiming for: the cathedral. The drab gray stone of the old building turned to shiny black as the birds flocked around it, landing on every surface possible. Their master would not relent, and would kill every last person to get inside the cathedral, if needed. Fortunately, that wasn’t needed, as all the people inside immediately dropped dead from fright, consequently sparing themselves from a painful death.

With their path clear of life, the ravens swooped inside the cathedral, crowding the main hall and the many other small hallways. As they came to one hallway in particular, they quickly unified and flew down the long hallway. They stopped at a big oaken door so smoothly they might as well have practiced this non-stop.

The door opened

                           s

                                 l

                                      o

                                          w

                                               l

                                                  y


	2. Chapter 2

I wake up with  a jolt. My mind racing, I struggle to remember each fleeting image as it goes through my mind. Ravens. Thousands of them. Blood. A baby. A cathedral. A great big door. And then… nothing. What did it all mean? I wonder if I should tell anyone about my dream. I’ve always had normal dreams, or at least as close to normal dreams as possible. This one was far from normal. No, I’d better not. Best to keep it to myself, else people might think I was frightened by a silly old dream. It was probably just my overactive imagination anyway, as my dad likes to say. I probably shouldn’t worry too much about it, as it is most likely my brain just being weird.

Pushing the dream out of my mind, I get out of bed and dress in my usual dark clothes. Since it is going to be chilly today (normal for mid-October), I choose a black sweatshirt with a pattern of sequins in the shape of a dragonfly, and a pair of black jeans. Pulling on my black Converse, I think about what I will do today. It’s Sunday, and with my dad working late and my mom teaching yoga in the community center a block away, I have the morning free.

I go downstairs and fix myself a quick breakfast: a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios and a glass of orange juice. I take my food upstairs to my room. Sitting down on my bed, I take out my laptop and put on some music:  _ Dear Theodosia _ , from the musical  _ Hamilton _ (my all-time favorite musical).

I finish my cereal (while singing along to  _ Dear Theodosia _ ) and wash it down with the rest of the juice. After a quick glance out the window to ensure it isn’t raining (it’s not), I decide to take a walk. Grabbing my denim bag from the coat rack beside my bedroom door, I quickly check my texts for any new messages. There is one from Mom saying she would be out this afternoon with some friends from work. I assume she means clients from her yoga class, since nobody helps her teach and she doesn’t have any other jobs.

As I take my house key from the porcelain dish on the table beside the front door, my phone pings. I take it out of my bag and frown as I read it. It’s Dad saying he had a meeting and would be home later than usual. Why didn’t he text this to Mom? Usually by the time he got home I was in bed, asleep, so why would he tell me? I quickly text back ( Did you mean to send that to Mom? ) and hurry out the door. I lock it and walk down the sidewalk, turning left at the corner, only to turn again and walk down Maple Street all the way to the bookstore. I come here almost daily, to read and maybe get a small coffee or a pastry, since it was connected to the café next door.

I open the door as the bells hanging from the inside handle jingled merrily. The owner, standing behind the counter as usual, greets me heartily.

“Hello, Elara! What are you looking for today?”

“Good morning, Mr. James,” I reply. “I just thought I would take a look around, see what looks interesting. Maybe get a cinnamon roll while I’m at it.”

“Well, you do that, then. Oh! A new shipment of books came in on Thursday. Would you like to take a look at them?”

“Oh, sure, why not?” I might get something new to read. Most of the books I own come from here, although a few are from the library. Sometimes I will check out a book from the library and like it so much I buy it. Lately I’ve been reading  _ Cinder _ , by Marissa Meyer. It is  _ really _ good, and I thought I would see if Mr. James has it and the rest of the series in the store.

He leads me to the storage room in the back of the store. Mr. James is a naturally messy person, so it doesn’t surprise me to see the room in its usual state, with boxes and piles of books covering almost every flat surface. What does surprise me is the fact that most of the boxes are sealed up tight, like they’re going to be sold.

Mr. James must have noticed me staring at the sealed boxes, because he smiles and said, “Those just came in this morning, and I’ve been so busy, I haven’t gotten a chance to open them yet.” He pauses, then asks, “One of them is full of young adult novels, I think. Would you like to open it?”

Of course I do. He passes me a boxcutter with exaggerated ceremony and bows deeply. I laugh. One of the things I like about Mr. James is that he is funny and he is nice to me, unlike some adults in my life. He treats me like who I am. How I want to be talked to. How I want to be treated. Like an adult, kind of. I mean, I’m only thirteen, which is not really considered “adult”, but some people seem to think of me as a five-year-old. People say that teenagers think they know everything. I don’t know everything, but I do know quite a bit.

I slit the box open and breathe in happily as the smell of new books fills the small room. What comes with it was a streak of jade green, flashing across my vision. Although this might seem crazy, or alarming to most people, it does not come as a surprise to me. I have seen these colors my whole life. I don’t yet know why smells have colors to me, but I aim to find out. Soon.

I think one of the reasons I like reading so much is because the smell is so beautiful. My favorite smell, apple pie, is a sunshine yellow edged with gold. That’s why autumn is my favorite season. There are apples, the leaves are red, orange, and yellow, there are Thanksgiving and Halloween, school starts (yes, I do enjoy school), and it starts to cool down, amongst other things.

My colors are such a huge part of my life, I don’t know what I would do without them. If I ever lost them… I think I would fall into depression or something. They are that important to me. I don’t want to even think about it.

I am startled out of my thoughts by Mr. James saying, “You’ve been reading those, haven’t you?” I look down at the box. Barely stifling a gasp, I pick up the one on the top. It is  _ Scarlet _ , the next book in the series after  _ Cinder _ .

“Could I have this one? And maybe the rest of the series, if it’s there?” I want this series  _ so _ bad!

“Of course, Elara. You can have whatever you want.  _ Scarlet _ ’s half off today.”

I know he is making it up, because new books are always more expensive than old books, and are hardly ever on sale. But I play along, because who doesn’t want cheap books?

“How much was it originally?”

“Thirteen dollars, I believe,” he replies. That might sound expensive to some people, but it’s still cheap for a new book!

I quickly sort through the box and find  _ Cress _ and  _ Winter _ . There is no  _ Fairest _ or  _ Stars Above _ , but I decide I would just get them next time. I still have to read  _ Scarlet _ , anyway. Mr. James and I go back to the front of the store to the cash register. I hand him the three books and take out my wallet. Quickly doing the math in my head, I pull out $28.50 (since  _ Scarlet _ and  _ Winter _ were only eleven dollars) and give the money to him as he scans the books.

He puts the money in the little drawer under the register and gives me the books. I take them and place them in my bag. Except  _ Scarlet _ , of course. Unlike many other people, I was born with the unique ability to read while walking. I find this very useful, especially when I walk to my dad’s office some days.

“Thanks,” I call out as I  left the store. I am so absorbed in my book that I don’t even notice the young man outside the door, causing me to bump into him. “Sorry,” I apologize as I hurry away. I want to get home as soon as I can, so I can read as much as possible before my mom gets home and I have to have lunch.

As I turn the corner onto my street, I look up for a second, noticing some large black birds perched on the electrical wires above the street. That’s funny. They are all staring at my house. I stop in my tracks, remembering my dream from the night before. Could these be ravens? A sliver of panic races through me as I remember how the ravens, as if they were a cloud of death, swooped down on people, killing them almost instantly. But not just any old people. Innocent people, who just wanted to flee and get away from the death and terror.  _ Innocent _ people. Like me. Who just wants to get inside her house so she can read a book.

The loud noise of a car starting jolts me out of my thoughts, bringing my senses back. It’s silly of me to think that they’re going to kill me just because of a dream I had. The dream didn’t even make sense! They were probably just crows, anyway. I could kick myself for being so frivolous.

Taking out my keys, I walk up the flagstone path to the front door. I unlock it and go inside with a big sigh of relief, for some strange reason. I have already assured myself that they’re just crows, who were probably just watching a squirrel on my roof. So why was my heart racing and my breathing rapid?

When I get inside, I practically run up the stairs and into my room, only stopping to kick my sneakers off at my door and hang my bag up, before launching myself onto my dark blue beanbag in the corner of the room. Settling in, I open up  _ Scarlet _ and begin to read.


	3. Chapter 3

I wake up at six-o’clock to my alarm beeping. Loudly. I try to silence it, hitting the nightstand, and the lamp, and finally the OFF button. Grumbling as I tried to untangle my blankets and sheets, I wonder about my dream. It was about ravens killing people. I remember them all flying to a cathedral in the middle of the city, wherever that was. Whatever. I don’t care about a stupid old dream. Why should I? It’s just a dream. And in my opinion, dreams are just that: dreams. They don’t come true.

Sliding out of bed, I sneak a quick glance at the clock. I have a habit of doing that: looking at the clock when I very well know what time it is. Usually it’s because I just looked at it less than a minute ago.

I unplug my phone from where it’s charging on the nightstand, then unlock it and enter the weather app. It’s the middle of October, so it’s not a surprise when the app says it should be rainy all day. I take out a T-shirt and a pair of jeans and put them on. As I pull on my socks, Mom calls up the stairs, “Breakfast!” I sigh as I longingly gaze at my guitar. I was really hoping I could get some practice in this morning.

I head downstairs, pausing to have a glance at the photo of Dad. It is the last one taken before his death. He died two years ago in a car crash. It was really hard on us ( _us_ being Mom, Zora, and I). I had been lost in a swirl of emotions. The grief was because, well, Dad _died_. I swear Mom cried for at least a week. But I was also angry. Not at the driver of the car, but at everyone else. It was hard, having people coming up to you and being “sorry for your loss”. One day, the counselor pulled me out of class to talk to me. She wanted to make sure that if I needed to talk to anyone, I knew I could talk to her about “my father’s passing”. It makes me mad when people say “pass away”. Why not plain old “die”? They mean the same thing. It doesn’t make it any less real, for crying out loud.

Mom calls again, even louder this time: “ _Leo Tobias Anderson_! Get down here now!” I take one last glance at Dad, then hurry down the stairs to the kitchen. Zora is already there, helping Mom set the table. I notice that her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, as if she’s been crying. She’s already got bowls out, so I grab Cheerios from the pantry, and three spoons, and place them at our spots.

While Mom gets milk out, I flick on the lights and ask Zora, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “It’s just...” Her voice trails off as sniffs and tears well up in her eyes.

“Dad?” She was only eight when he died, and it’s still hard on her when she remembers him.

“Yeah.”

I give her a quick hug and resume setting the table. I’ve never been a touchy-feely kind of person, so it’s a bit difficult helping Zora when she remembers Dad. Heck, it’s even hard trying to get over it myself. We were really close when he died. I was in school when it happened.

I even remember when and where I was when I found out. Sixth grade science class. We were studying the different types of energy. I had raised my hand and was asking a question about gravitational energy when the school secretary came to the door. She said to get my things and come to the office. She was so serious, and quiet. When we were walking down the hallway, I asked her what was going on. Right then and there, she stopped me in the middle of the hallway. She looked into my eyes and it was then I saw the flicker of sadness in them, and I began to feel scared. Taking a deep breath, she said, very quietly, “Your father died today.”

The world turned upside down and my knees buckled. As I fell to the floor in shock, I remember her calling my name, and my mom rushing out of the office to me. Then, I passed out.

I came to ten minutes later, in the office, with tears on my face. Mom’s face was red and tear-streaked. She had brought Zora with her, who was also crying and looked like she had been for days. Dad had been driving when he saw a doe and her fawn crossing the street. He had swerved to avoid them and the car had fallen into a ditch.

A loud crash brings me back to my senses. Zora has dropped a plate, it seems. She doesn’t even seem to notice the large white shards at her feet, because she is staring out the dining room window, her eyes wide with fear. I immediately cross over to her and ask what in the world is so frightening. All she can do is raise a shaky finger and point out the window. I look in the direction she was pointing and do a double take.

Out there, perched on the telephone wires and the neighbors’ houses, are large, black ravens. I don’t want to frighten Zora even more, so I steady my breath and tell her they’re probably just watching a mouse or a squirrel or something like that. She says, “Okay,” not sounding very reassured, but it’s all I can think of right now to comfort her (and myself).

After I clean up the porcelain shards from the plate Zora dropped, I pour the juice and sit down. I eat my cereal as fast as I can, so I can have time to play my guitar after breakfast. I need to practice for guitar lessons this Wednesday. But right as I think this, Mom strikes down my plans with a “you need to get to school early so I can go to my meeting”. I didn’t even know she _had_ meetings, where she works. She helps out at a bookstore Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. Why should she be going to a meeting?

She must have seen the doubt in my eyes, because then she says, “My boss has a new marketing plan, and he wants to go over it with us.” _Us_ means her and three other friends who work there with her. I shrug. Whatever. It’s not like it really matters to me.

When I finish eating, I take my bowl to the dishwasher and place it inside. Then I go upstairs to my room and pull on my Converse and a jacket. I put my homework (yes, I do homework) and the book I’m reading ( _Divergent_ ) in my backpack. Then I go downstairs, where Zora is waiting by the door. Mom comes out of the bathroom, puts on her shoes, grabs car keys, and we leave the house. The ravens are still there.


	4. Chapter 4

I  WAKE UP THE next morning at six-thirty with a smile on my face. I didn’t have the raven dream last night. I sit up in bed with a sigh of relief. Yesterday, I was more shaken by the dream and the birds outside my house. Mom and Dad noticed it too. At dinner my hands were shaking, and my eyes kept flicking towards the window all afternoon. Mom asked me if I was okay. I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I did what anyone would do (I think). I said, “Yeah.” What else would I say? “Nope! I had a crazy dream about ravens killing people and I saw very large, very ominous, very black birds watching the house.” No. Of course not. I am  _ not _ going to an insane asylum at age thirteen. Or ever, for that matter.

I climb out of bed and root through my closet for something to wear. I choose a periwinkle blue (sometimes I wear light colors) sweatshirt that says “The book was better”, in all-caps and a sans serif font, and black jeans. I put them on, grab  _ Scarlet _ , and head downstairs. Dad already left for work, so it’s just me and Mom. As I walk into the kitchen, she looks up from the stove, where she is frying bacon and scrambling eggs. I take a big whiff and watch streaks of gold and midnight blue dance through my vision. I smile and get plates and forks out, setting them on the square birch table, which has a glass vase of peach-colored roses in the center (courtesy of yours truly). They are real, whereas the lemon-yellow roses on my nightstand in my room are not. I love roses; they are my favorite flowers. Their smell is the color of pale stardust. I think that’s why I’ve always associated roses with stars.

Mom puts the bacon and eggs on (separate) plates (along with larger forks), sets them on the table, then sits down. She passes me the bacon before serving herself eggs. I take three strips of bacon and pass it to her, just as she gives me the eggs. I take some and smile as the first bite of bacon enters my mouth. I hadn’t realized just how hungry I was until now. I wolf down my food and guzzle my juice. Then I clear my dishes and head upstairs to the bathroom.

I take a hairband from the small drawer under the sink, and after brushing my dark waist-length hair, I pull it up in a high messy bun. Then I go to my room and, after a quick search through my guitar-case jewelry holder, I put on a skinny black headband. I look in the full-body mirror in the corner, and I am satisfied with what I see. When I was younger, my sense of style was horrendous, and I would just pick random pieces of clothing. Now, I’m trying to find clothes that look good together and compliment my olive skin.

Mom calls up the stairs. “Elara! Come on!” Snapped out of my thoughts, I hurry to put on my dark gray Toms, and grab  _ Scarlet _ and my backpack, then head downstairs to the kitchen, where I get my lunch from the fridge. I always make my lunch the night before, which gives me a lot more free time in the morning. Usually during that time, I read or go on Pinterest or watch  _ Hamilton _ animatics. My favorite animatic-maker, or whatever they’re called, is Szin. Her art is really good and I like the way she depicts the characters.

After I plop my lunch in my backpack, Mom and I head out the door. I go to the car while she locks up, having snagged the car keys before going outside. After I buckle up, I take out my phone and check my texts. There’s a new one, from my friend Emily. She is asking if I want to come over this afternoon. I reply  Sure and put my phone away. Mom gets in the car and we leave.

When we get to school, I say goodbye to Mom and hurry to my first class: history. It is my favorite class because we are studying the history of the United States. This month, we are each studying a person who was around or involved in us becoming a nation. You’d think I would choose Alexander Hamilton, from what I said earlier, but no. I chose Eliza, or rather, Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton. The reason I chose her and not Alexander is because while, he did fight in a war, help us win, and write literally thousands of pages, amongst other things, I think Eliza had the harder life. Let’s see: her husband was fighting most of the time right after they got married, then he cheats on her, and if that wasn’t enough (heh), he wrote the Reynolds Pamphlet, which talked all about how he cheated on her (which, by the way, lasted three years), then her sister Peggy died, just before her son died, then her daughter went insane because of the death of her son, then three years later, her husband dies the same way her son did (in a duel), then her other sister Angelica dies, then she dies at the age of ninety-seven. Pretty tough, right? Anyway, I couldn’t do Alexander anyway, because Leo, a boy in my class chose him. Although, come to think of it, Angelica didn’t have it easy, either. She loved Alexander but she let Eliza have him, which I have to say is pretty cool of her. I’m not exactly sure I would do that for my sister. If I  _ had _ a sister, which I don’t.

As I enter the classroom and sit down, the bell rings, making me jump. There are a couple kids here already, but I’m still one of the first. Students file in through the door as my teacher stands up from where he is at his desk. He tells us to take out Chromebooks from the cart. I take the one with my number on it: 15. He tells us to continue researching our people. So I do.

When class is over, we put our Chromebooks away. I head to the opposite side of the school for my next class, math. I’m in Compacted Math, so I’m doing high school math instead of eighth grade math, because we did that last year in seventh grade. After math, I go to science, than technology, then English, then Spanish, etc., etc.

In between technology and English I have lunch. Last night, I packed leftover lasagna from Saturday’s dinner, along with grapes and slices of cantaloupe. Mom doesn’t shop much, but when she does, she goes all out. So our fridge is almost always full, or close to it. It’s pretty great, especially because she lived in Italy and France growing up. That’s why we eat a lot of Italian and French cuisine.

We have the option to eat outside, and since it’s not very cold out, I know Emily will be sitting at one of the tables in the courtyard. I quickly scan the faces and jog over once I see her. She smiles as she sees me. Emily always gets there first because her fourth period class (math) is a lot closer to the courtyard than mine. Unfortunately for me, the technology room is one of the farthest ones from the courtyard or cafeteria, so I have to walk a long way. It’s not that bad, but still. I’d prefer to be closer.

So anyway, that’s why she is already sitting down and eating her usual turkey, ham, and mustard sandwich when I get there. I get out my food and start eating. When I glance up, I notice that her eyes have a mischievous glint in them. I have known Emily long enough that I immediately recognize it as a sign that she has news.

She leans over, sets her sandwich down, and says mysteriously, “Someone likes you.” I groan inwardly. Emily is always looking for romance. It’s what she lives for. Sometimes her assumptions are correct, and she’s right about who she thinks has a crush on me (or her). Most of the time, though, she’s wrong and it ends up in an awkward situation. For example, take the time in seventh grade when she thought Dylan liked me. He didn’t. He liked the girl who sat in front of me in science (the only class we had together). Fortunately for Emily and I, he moved in the middle of the school year, and that was a huge relief, as there was an awkward moment caused by Emily (that I would rather not talk about) that made me grateful that I would never see him again.

I squash all that down inside me and paste on a fake smile. I try to make my voice light and girly as I ask, “Who?”

Her eyes shine as she replies, “Leo Anderson!” Okay, this is a surprise. Never in a million years would I suspect Leo having a crush on me.

“How can you tell?” I know from experience that I can’t trust Emily’s instincts on a whim. I need evidence.

“First of all, he’s always looking at you,” she says. “And when I notice this, he turns away immediately”

“Second of all, history class! You picked Elizabeth Hamilton, right?”

“Well, yeah, but––”

She cuts me off saying, “He picked after you, didn’t he?” I nod absently. He did; I only remember this because I was second and he was third, right after me.

“And he chose Alexander Hamilton. Correct?” I confirm this and watch as Emily sits back triumphantly. I don’t get it. I tell her this and she looks shocked. Okay, slight exaggeration there. She looks…  surprised.

Her eyes widen as she asks, “You don’t get it?”

“No, I don’t! How can you think he likes me based off of who he chose to study in history class? He could just be a fan of  _ Hamilton _ , or maybe he just picked at random!”

“Yeah, but, well, Alexander and Elizabeth were married! They were in love! Maybe that’s just his subtle way of saying he likes you!”

“Yeah, and maybe that’s his subtle way of saying he’ll cheat on me –if he does like me– and write practically a whole book about it!”

Emily glares at me with such force that I sit back down, trying to compose myself.

“He. Likes. You. And don’t try to deny it!” She leans in again, and whispers, “And you can’t deny that you like him, either!”

“Shut up!” I feel my cheeks burning. “ _ I don’t like him! _ ”

She laughs. “Sure you don’t.” Her gaze strays past me, and her eyes light up. “See, I was right! He’s looking at you!”

“Maybe he’s looking at you,” I fire back, though halfheartedly. I quickly turn and glance behind me. Heat rises in my chest when I see him staring back at me. He turns away, and I when do the same and look back at Emily she has a malicious grin on her face. I groan, no longer inwardly, and ask, “What now?”

“I’m going to go talk to him.” No! She can’t! I grab her sleeve as she stands up, trying to stop her from going over to him. She shrugs out of my grasp and marches over to him. I groan and put my head in my hands. Emily is my best friend, but she can be hard to handle sometimes.


	5. Chapter 5

As I am watching Elara and her friend, she turns and looks at me. My cheeks burn as I turn away. When I’m sure she isn’t looking any more, I look back, and lo and behold, her friend is marching over to me, grinning (evilly) all the way. God, I hope she doesn’t think I like her.

When she reaches me, she sits on the bench next to me. Twirling a lock of hair around her finger, she says, “Hi, I’m Emily. I heard you chose Alexander Hamilton for history class. Care to say why?”

My heart hammering in my chest, I try not to blush, but I fail spectacularly. I try to cover it up with a “Because, I, uh, I think he’s interesting, that’s all” but she clearly doesn’t buy it.

She smirks and says, “That’s what I thought,” before standing up and walking back to where Elara is waiting, her head in her hands. I breathe heavily, and when making several  attempts to quit blushing fail, I give up and shovel food in my mouth. I totally embarrassed myself without meaning to. Bad phrasing, because who does? Want to embarrass themselves, that is. What I mean is that I failed horribly to be the cool guy. Not that I am, but, well, you can’t blame a guy for trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> really short chapter oof


	6. Chapter 6

Emily runs back to me with a triumphant grin. I groan yet again and ask, “What did he say?”

“Well, he didn’t say outright that he likes you,” she replies. When I frown skeptically at this, she holds up a finger and says, “But I could tell he does when he answered me.” Wait, what?

“What, exactly, did you ask him?” _Please nothing embarrassing._

“I only asked why he chose Alexander Hamilton for history.” She looks at me with large, innocent eyes. I give her a Look in response, although on the inside I heave a huge sigh of relief.

It lasts until she says, “He blushed and stammered an answer. A pathetic one, if you ask me.”

“What’d he say?”

She deepens her voice and does a horrible impression of him saying, “I, uh, I think he’s interesting.” She makes her voice normal. “Isn’t that pitiful? He started sweating, too.”

I roll my eyes, but deep down inside my heart is wondering _Could he really like me?_ I’m not sure, but I think I might like him, too. As I think this, I push it deep down inside me, where Emily can’t see it.

I carry on with my lunch. Emily has finished by the time I’m done, and she has taken out a book ( _Pax_ ) and started reading. I put my things away, take out _Scarlet_ , and continue reading. I am almost halfway through when the bell rings. I sigh in frustration. I was at a really good part! The part where– I shouldn’t say. It’ll spoil a whole bunch.

I put _Scarlet_ away and join Emily, who is already walking towards our next class, English. It is one of two classes we have together, so that’s one of the reasons I enjoy it. But I also like it because we write a lot, and writing is one of my favorite things to do. I also love reading, which I’m sure you’ll have gathered from the fact that I read a lot.

Emily is still hanging onto the topic of Leo. I know this due to the devilish glint in her eyes that tell me she won’t let me hear the end of this. There won’t _be_ an end, which I know because of my knowledge of how Emily works. If something embarrassing happens, she will _not_ shut up about it. Say you’re eating lunch with her. Both of you are eating, it’s all nice, it’s quiet, and then out of the blue she’ll say, “Hey, remember when...” Or something along those lines.

As she begins to open her mouth to speak, I shoot her another Look, which causes her to turn away sheepishly. I’ve read _Divergent_ so many times that I automatically sort people into the five factions: Abnegation (the selfless), Amity (the peaceful), Candor (the honest), Dauntless (the brave), and Erudite (the intelligent). Sometimes, if I can’t decide which one to put them in, I’ll say they’re Divergent, which means they have aptitude for more than one faction. I think Emily is a mix of Dauntless and Candor, due to the fact that she takes risks (a _lot_ ) and that she is brutally honest. If she does something she’s not supposed to, she will “turn herself in”, if you know what I mean.

For example, take that time when I was doing homework with her at her house and her parents told her not to use her phone. As you would expect, she immediately took her phone out and started playing a game. (Emily takes reverse psychology very seriously.) She turned it off as soon as her parents came in, fast enough that they couldn’t see. Later she felt guilty and told them.

Sometimes I want to tell her “If you could stop talking, that would be enough!” But even so, we are best friends. We have been since first grade, when we were making paper boats in art class. We were going to put them on a blue paper “lake” the teacher had made. I was having trouble with mine. In my opinion, the teacher hadn’t clarified the instructions enough, and I didn’t know what to do. The teacher wouldn’t help me. She thought I was playing dumb, pretending I didn’t know what to do just to annoy her. I couldn’t do anything to convince her she was wrong. Frustrated and close to tears, I gave up and headed back to my seat in silent surrender. Emily, who was new here, was sitting across from me. When she saw how sad I was, she smiled and leaned over to help me.

I remember being really surprised at this, because she has pale skin, blue eyes, and

dark ringlets. In other words, she’s white, and most white people were racist to me because

I’m half Mexican on my dad’s side. Come to think of it, I am pretty sure that’s why the teacher was so rude to me. Yes! That has to be it. I know because a white boy needed help and she was a million times kinder to him. I feel newly found indignance at this. I’m not an immigrant! I was born in Colorado and moved to Wisconsin when I was two years old. Both my parents are U.S. citizens, as are my grandparents. (On my mom’s side, at least. My dad’s parents have always lived in Mexico.)

I must have a frown on my face, because Emily asks me, “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing, just, um, thinking about the book I’m reading.”

“Speaking of reading, did you see the book Leo has?” _Oh, give it a break! I don’t like him!_ Or do I? Pushing the thought out of my head, I reply.

“No, I didn’t.” I bite my lip and hesitate. Alas, I’m unable to hold back my curiosity, and finally I ask, “What is it?”

“Divergent!” She says this with a grin.

As much as I don’t want to give in to Emily, I am more excited that somebody besides Emily and I have or are reading it.

So I turn to her and ask, “Really?” _Damn._ I say this with about four and a half question marks.

“Yeah, he had on the table next to him at lunch,” she says.

I’m unable to hold back a grin at this. I wonder if he’s re-reading it or if it’s his first time. I’ve read the whole series (including _Four_ ) multiple times. Has he taken the aptitude test? I mean the real one, at the back of the book. Does he sort people into factions, like me? All at once, a hundred thoughts and questions are racing through my brain.

I shake my head to clear it, still smiling. Emily and I enter our next class, take out our books, and start reading.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> different universe now yeet
> 
> Luna's POV

L eaning over, I inspect  the apples that have fallen from the tree above me. A few of them are bruised, and have been nibbled on by insects, though most of them are in tip-top shape. I select the best ten and carefully place them in my basket, where they rest along with wild blackberries. I will bake them in a pie tonight for dinner, as the ravens have slowed down on the food supply. While they brought me a pig (dead, of course, because I hate killing animals), some fruit, and vegetables last week, this morning all I found outside my door was a chicken and three tomatoes. I used the last of the jam for breakfast today, and I think I will roast the chicken with the tomato sauce I made. I wonder what I will do when the ravens stop bringing me food.

I push that thought out of my head and my long red curls out of my face. I have food for now, so I should enjoy that while it lasts. I head back to my house, which is built in between two trees. I chose it for its size. It is a two-story house, with three bedrooms and two bathrooms (which might seem pretty big, but trust me, it is small compared to other houses). All of the other houses are either abnormally large or extremely tiny, not enough for a girl and her pets. I have a rabbit, a squirrel, and two birds. They’re not really my pets, they just follow me around. I’ve always had a knack with animals. I think maybe that’s why the ravens spared me, and not the other humans.

When I get back to my house, what I see makes me gasp in horror. A fawn is lying on the road in front of the house, still and lifeless. I don’t think it is dead, so I hurry over and check it out. (After setting down the basket, of course. Food is valuable.) It is bleeding heavily from a deep gash in its leg. I immediately recognize it as a cut made by the beak of a raven. A raven hurt this helpless little animal. And in front of my own house! The nerve! I feel a surge of anger. This has happened time and time again. I have told them seemingly a thousand times not to bother my animal friends. Or any animal, for that matter. They are going to get it tonight, when I see them.

But now, the fawn. I kneel beside it and inspect the wound. It is very deep, and apparently so painful that the fawn has fallen unconscious. I don’t blame it. Her, I mean. (I checked.) I don’t have any bandages or medicine on hand. This is because I don’t go fruit-picking expecting to find severely injured animals practically on my doorstep when I return. So I go inside and collect said bandages and medicine along with a bowl of water (hydration is important) and a towel and return to the fawn. The pain must have subsided a bit, for she has come to and is blinking her eyes like she just woke up.

I clean her leg, wiping the blood off. It isn’t quite as deep as I thought it was. Once I have cleaned it up as best as I can, I carefully dab the medicine on the cut. The fawn startles a little. “Shhh, it’s okay,” I say in the soft voice I use with animals. “You’ll be okay, little fawn. I know it hurts, but it will make you feel better.” I am still furious with the ravens. I have been trying so hard to let the forest animals know that it’s okay to leave the forest and cross the road. There aren’t any cars anymore. Well, there are, but there is no one to drive them except me, and I don’t know how. I don’t like cars, anyway.

When I finish cleaning the wound, I wrap the fawn’s leg in a bandage. It has relaxed by now. It looks… happy, almost. Content. Its eyes meet mine, and I smile. One of my rules is that I show no aggression when I am with animals.

Though the fawn is feeling better, its leg still needs to heal. It’ll have to stay in my house for at least a week and a half. I smile at it again. “You need a name,” I say. All of my other friends have names. The rabbit’s name is Winter, because I found her during the winter. The squirrel is named Autumn, and the birds are named Olive and Mushroom. If you’re wondering why I named a bird Mushroom, it’s because he likes to eat mushrooms. They are his favorite food. Besides sunflower seeds, that is. I named the other one, the girl, Olive, because I like olives (she doesn’t care much for them) and it’s a pretty name for a girl. (In my opinion, at least.)

The fawn looks at me almost like she’s lost in thought. Then an idea strikes me. I learned to read at about five, I think. I lost track, because with everyone else dead time seemed to be lost. At least, that’s how I think of it. But I figured it out and I’m pretty sure I’m thirteen years old. Anyway, once I learned how to read,  _ Beauty and the Beast _ has been one of my favorite stories. Since this little fawn looks… oh, I don’t know, bookish, I guess, I think I’ll name her Belle.

I ask her, “How about Belle?” Her face remains the same. I laugh and say, “Well, I guess that’s that.” I stand up and dust off my hands. I tell Belle I’ll be right back, and then go into the house and look for something I can use as a stretcher. My gaze lands on a small bench. I fill with hope and quickly check the underside. Yes! The legs are removable! I take the legs off, pick up the bench, and go outside to Belle.

She looks nervous when she sees the bench. I gently set it down. She doesn't quite seem to know what to think. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I say. I carefully pick her up the slightest bit. She doesn’t seem to mind too much, so I pick her up all the way. She’s heavier than she looks. I set her down on the bench. Then I carefully pick the bench up and carry it inside. While I’ve been doing all this, I’ve also been thinking about which room Belle will stay in. All of the rooms in my house have one wall that’s painted a different color, while the rest of the walls are white. My room is chartreuse green (which is my favorite color). The one I’m thinking about putting Belle in is royal blue. I decided on that one because it is slightly larger than mine, and it is on the first floor, which will be easier for both of us.

So I carry her down the long-ish hallway to the Blue Room and set her inside on the bed. I read some dusty old books I found abandoned in what I think used to be the library. They said that the color blue is the most calming color, so I think I chose well. She seems to like it enough that I think I can go out to the kitchen to get her an apple or two.

I go to the kitchen and have almost reached the refrigerator when I remember that I left the basket of fruit outside. I hurry out the door and sigh in relief when I see that all of the fruit inside it are fully intact and exactly the way I left them. It was stupid of me to just leave it there. I know that squirrels and mice will nibble on food they find lying around. But when I saw Belle, I just stopped thinking. Oh well. You learn from your mistakes, I guess.

I pick out two apples from the basket and take them into the Blue Room to Belle. I set them on the bed next to her and laugh as she pokes one of them with her nose. It’s as if she’s saying,  _ What are these things? _ Well, I guess I’ll go make that pie now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elara's POV

_ I _ _ am flying over _ _  a forest. It is nighttime, and very late at that. The skies are clear. The moon is fuller than full, and the stars are seemingly brighter than they have ever been. I look down. Below me, the trees melt into a black nothingness, an empty void, a whole eternity. I feel a wave of vertigo and overwhelming panic, but I keep on flying. I look up. The sight of the stars calms me a bit, although there is still nausea settled in the pit of my stomach. _

_ A faint glimmer up ahead catches my eye. I can’t quite tell what it is, until I get closer. It is actually a lake, shining like molten silver in the moonlight. In the middle of the lake there is an island. It is small enough that I can see there aren’t any habitants, but big enough that there is a mountain in the island’s center. As I come even closer, I notice the mouth of a cave.  _ But it is dark out,  _ you say. Well, you are right. The cave is visible to me only because it is bathed in firelight. I feel a strange sense warning me not to go down there. But I cannot control my body, and I swoop down to the cave anyway. _

_ As I get closer to the entrance, I spot strange paintings on the walls. Were they made by cavemen? I don’t know. I land on the ledge next to the mouth of the cave, ruffling my large, black, feathery wings–– _

_ Wait, what? I glance down at the rest of my body. I stumble back, almost falling off the ledge before righting myself. I have black feathers all over me, and talons are there instead of human feet and legs. In other words, I have the body of a raven. I reel back in shock yet again.  _ A raven? _ How on earth could this be? _

_ I enter the cave and gasp as I realize what the strange paintings actually are. They are images of humans. And not just any images– they are moving, as if large cameras hover over them. I step back in horror as I spot myself among them. I am in bed, sleeping. I have a look of pain on my face, and the sheets and blankets are tangled around me. I scan the walls to see if I can find anyone I know. I spot Emily. She is on her computer, no doubt reading fanfiction from one (or more) of the many fandoms she belongs to. I smile (in theory, since I currently have a beak), and move on. My heart gives a little start when I recognize Leo. He is reading  _ Divergent _ with a smile on his face. So Emily wasn’t lying, after all. (Not that I doubted her, but you never know with Emily.) _

_ Then my gaze lands on a girl. She has long red ringlets, a spattering of freckles across her nose, and vivid green eyes. I don’t know who she is. She is in a forest, picking blackberries from a bush. Then the scene changes and she is picking apples off the ground. Just as I am wondering who she is, a voice whispers in my ear.  _ Luna. _ I jump and look around wildly. There is nobody else in the cave with me. Nobody at all. It was probably my imagination. Or, there is some magic in the cave and it told me what I wanted to know. _

_ As I turn back to the screen-like scene that portrays me, I feel something tugging me towards the image. (Now the emotion on my face is fear.) I look down towards my chest, since that’s where the tug seems to come from. I jump a little when I see the silver ribbon of– of– I’m not quite sure what it is made of. It looks like some sort of liquid. But when I pass my hand through it, my hand doesn’t get wet. Instead, it feels warmer. And even more strange is the fact that when I take my hand out there is a silver streak where my hand touched it. I am not sure what to think of this. _

_ The silver thread pulls me towards the wall, and as it does, I feel my body changing back into that of a human. Inside, I sigh with relief. I also quiver in fear. Why am I being dragged towards the wall? Why was I a raven? What is the deal with ravens, anyway? What is  _ happening? _ I don’t know the answers to any of these questions, which worries me. If the voice answered me earlier, why not now? Am I not supposed to know the answers? What in the world is going on? _

_ As I am pulled ever so slowly towards the image on the wall, I brace myself for what surely will come next and wonder: If I crash against the wall, will the thread keep pulling until I am nothing more than a smear of blood on the wall? Or will it stop? _

_ All of these thoughts disappear from my mind as I come inches away from the wall. Panic races through me and my heart beats wildly as I get closer and closer and closer and closer and closerandcloserstilluntilIamfinallypulledthroughthewall! _

 

I wake up with a gasp. My face is wet, either from tears or from the sweat that is pouring down my cheeks, or most likely both, since my throat aches and my eyes sting. I am shaken by this new dream in general, but what scares me most is the fact that  _ I know where that cave is. _ It isn’t on an island in the middle of a silver lake surrounded by inky-black trees, but rather in the forest near my house. About two blocks away from where I am lying in bed right at this very moment is a dense forest. If you are walking, it takes you around five minutes to get to the cave. I myself have been there many times with Emily or my family or both our families. I explored that cave and the forest around it when I was little. I know that cave like the back of my hand.

I have a feeling I won’t get back to sleep after this. Then an idea strikes me.  _ I’ll go visit the cave. _ I slip out of bed, grateful that these floors don’t creak, unlike at Emily’s house, where every step you take makes a loud  _ creak _ . I silently get dressed in the heaviest jeans I own and a dark violet sweater. (It gets really cold at night during October.) I pull on my socks and hiking boots. Then I grab a flashlight and extra batteries (I may be crazy, but I’m not stupid) and my phone, which is fully charged. (I charge my phone every night so it doesn’t die in the middle of the day.)

Then, after slipping into my winter coat, I creep downstairs and out the back door. I walk the short distance to the forest, and after turning on the flashlight, I navigate through the woods. An owl hoots, making me jump. I’m not usually this skittish at night, but it’s not every night you wake up from the second nightmare in a row. Before I check the cave, I need to send a text. I type it out carefully (my thumbs are clumsy most of the time so I end up saying something completely irrelevant to what I want to say) and press  Send .

Once I reach the cave, I take a deep breath. I’m pretty sure the cave will be exactly how it usually is (dark, some bats on the ceiling, sparkly crystals embedded in the walls), but I brace myself just in case. Even though I am ready for anything unusual, I am not nearly prepared for what comes next.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nearing the end!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so dumb omg what was i thinking
> 
> also please let's take a moment to laugh at how past me thought 10 was late  
> no  
> honey  
> 10's fuckng early  
> 3 is late, and only barely so

I close my book with a sigh. I am only halfway through, but things are getting really intense and I feel like something is going to happen to Tris soon. Mom made me read it ( _Divergent_ ) because she read it when she was a teenager, and that’s how I got my middle name: Tobias. She wanted Zora to be named Beatrice, but Dad said no, that’s enough. She convinced him (though he was somewhat reluctant) to let her name her after one of her favorite characters from the Lunar Chronicles: Peony. For her middle name, not her first name, that is.

So there we are: the fangirl’s children. Leo Tobias and Zora Peony. In my opinion, Zora Peony sounds a little weird, but Mom thinks it sounds great, so it is what it is.

I glance at the clock (for probably the millionth time today). It is almost ten-o’clock, super late. For me, anyway. I’m usually in bed no later than nine. I said in bed, not asleep, because I almost always have a book with me. I read for about half an hour before I finally set the book aside and go to sleep.

Just as I’m setting _Divergent_ on my nightstand, my phone pings. I frown, looking at the number. It’s from Elara. She never texts this late at night. Scratch that; she hardly even texts at all. My heart rises in my chest as I wonder what she wants to say so late at night. I open the text and read it.

Leo-

I like you. There. I said it. I had to say that, before it’s too late and I chicken out. Listen, there is something weird going on. I had a dream a few days ago, about ravens mercilessly killing people. Then there was a baby girl. She looked as if she was from Irish descent: red hair, green eyes, freckles, etc. You know what I mean. Then earlier tonight I had another dream. Long story short, I was a raven and I found this cave- the very same cave I am about to enter. It was in a different place, but I know it was the same one. I know what you’re thinking- that could happen to anyone. But here’s the strange thing:on the walls there were moving images. I saw myself, I saw Emily, and I also saw you. (Great book, by the way.) I also saw a girl- with long red curls, green eyes, and freckles. I think it was the same girl. Wait, that’s a lie. I know for a fact that it was the same girl. I know, because the city she was in? It was the exact same city as in my dream. Something is up, and I’m going to find out why.

So there. If I don’t return from the cave, you know why. The ravens have either kidnapped me or killed me, and we are all doomed. I know that sounds a little dramatic, but I truly believe the ravens are coming. Please don’t tell anyone.

-Elara

I sit back against the headboard. _She had the dream too?_ I can’t believe it! I’m not the only one! Then another realization strikes me: _she likes me back!_ Of all the things that happened to me today, this has been the best one.

But then I remember. _The ravens are coming._ I start to panic, before realizing that they probably won’t come tonight. Reassured, I get under the covers and fall asleep, comforted by the thought of Elara liking me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brace yourselves

Elara Jane Rodriguez has gone missing. Her parents are drowning in a turmoil of emotions. No one knows the cause of her disappearance, if she ran away, if she was kidnapped, or something else. Her phone and her flashlight are gone with her, along with the heaviest clothes she owns. The police are still investigating, and they will be for another month before she is found.

Her best friend, Emily Johnson, is beside herself. Based on the evidence, she is convinced that Elara ran away, though she can’t imagine why. “Elara would never run away,” she said in an interview. “Her family has no problems, her grades are just fine (top of the class, actually), and we haven’t fought for years! I have absolutely no idea why she is gone.” Nobody has even the slightest inkling of where Elara could be.

Except Leo Anderson. Even though Elara doesn’t know, he promised her he would never tell a soul about what she said via text message. It nearly kills him to know a little about where Elara is, but not being able to tell anyone.

Elara is, of course, in the girl’s realm. Luna, that is. She found Elara in the forest, near a cave. She is taking good care of her and they are both trying to find a way to get Elara back, while at the same time trying to reason with the ravens to stop them from attacking Elara’s world, or as she calls it, Earth. Luna doesn’t know much about this Earth, but she does know that if every person is as goodhearted as Elara, it is definitely worth saving.

Elara will find her way back in a month.

Emily will have found a new friend, who will have “comforted” her during Elara’s disappearance, while really taking advantage of the situation and gradually stealing her from Elara.

Leo waits impatiently every day for Elara’s return.

Mr. and Mrs. Rodriguez are heartbroken and desperately want her back.

Luna will have found a new friend, another human, and lost her just as suddenly. She will go insane from the loneliness eventually.

But will the ravens and their master have stopped their evil ways and live in peace until the next Evil? Or will they fight back the goodness and wreck havoc on Earth, bringing death by the truckload and wiping out every species in the world?

You decide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it!  
> -Ravens
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Tumblr: xthreeravensx


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